


Happy Father's Day

by citrusfriend



Series: The Girl In The Fire Alarm [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Abusive Parents, Anger, Bad Parenting, Blood and Violence, Broken Families, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Castration, Childhood Trauma, Divorce, Dysfunctional Family, Father Figures, Father's Day, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Minor Violence, Molestation, Other, Past Rape/Non-con, Poetry, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Self-Hatred, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Assault, Triggers, if you dont know what a columbian necktie is then dont read this, only in metaphors tho, violence is only bc of my homocidal revenge fantasty towards rapist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:35:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24731680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrusfriend/pseuds/citrusfriend
Summary: I cannot see any fatherand not also see my father.
Series: The Girl In The Fire Alarm [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748884
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Happy Father's Day

**Author's Note:**

> How many poems can I write bashing on how the fbi ruined my life before the fbi puts me on a watchlist lmaooo

I cannot see any father  
and not wonder  
what kinds of germs crawl beneath his skin,  
what kind of diseases he carries  
and carts off onto his children,  
how many infections he has passed on  
to those without immune systems to keep them from passing on.

I cannot see any father  
and not wonder  
how badly his children want to die,  
how early they learned to lie,  
and if he held their bodies to the sky  
in a thankful sacrifice to the god  
who spared him from his comeuppance,  
his consequence, his conviction, his kids.

I cannot see any father  
and not also see my father.  
I cannot see any father  
and not also see my revenge, my recompense, my resurrection.  
I cannot see any father  
and not imagine my father,  
hanging from his toes in his garage,  
his cock  
sawed off and shoved up his slit throat,  
plunging through his windpipe,  
wrecking the wide open window of his wailing mouth.

I cannot see any father  
and not see my abuser,  
because in my eyes,  
there is no difference.  
The only kind of parents I know are abusers,  
so when my coworker tells an anecdote about their family,  
I will always think of every way each action could be manipulative.  
I run through scripts in my head  
on what to say to kids abused by their parents.  
But they just talk about going skiing,  
or how their mother helped them change a tire,  
and I am forcibly reminded that some parents  
are not the kind of parents  
who marinate their children in their father's semen  
until they are tender and skewered and obedient  
enough to be served in the buffet.  
Not all parents  
are the kind of parents  
who use their other children's bones as toothpicks for the father's teeth.

But enough of them are  
that I am afraid of again becoming complicit.  
All fathers are guilty until proven innocent,  
but my father pled guilty in a court of law and was acquitted,  
so in my jury, _no one_ can be proven innocent,  
not even myself.  
A child raised to clean their own bones,  
to suck their own marrow,  
to create a feast with their own insides until they are hollow,  
is still a _cannibal,_ after all.

But if there is one thing my family taught me,  
it is that blood will wash out the taste of any other memory.  
And if there is one thing that I have taught myself,  
it is that my flesh and blood  
all carry diseases and infections  
but diseases  
can be treated  
and infection can be cut off and cauterized,  
and what is healthy will _survive._

**Author's Note:**

> 6/12/2020


End file.
